Sword Beach
by O'Shea
Summary: It is 1997, and my world is at war. You-Know-Who's reign of terror extends across Wizarding Britain and Ireland, leaving those who would oppose him weak and uncertain. And Harry Potter is nowhere to be found. Oneshot companion piece to 'Wrath of Merlin'


A/N: This is a companion one-shot to my main piece of work, _Wrath of Merlin, _featuring the character 'Y'. I'd encourage readers to begin with _Wrath of Merlin_ first. _Sword Beach _can still be read as a stand-alone piece, but fits much better into the larger picture.

I hope you enjoy it, and please review!

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**I. SWORD BEACH**

"I call upon all who love freedom to stand with us. Keep your faith staunch. Our arms are resolute. Together we shall achieve victory."

_- _Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, June 6th 1944

It is 1997, and my world is at war.

You-Know-Who's reign of terror extends across Wizarding Britain and Ireland, leaving those who would oppose him weak and uncertain.

Harry Potter is nowhere to be found.

And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named grows only more powerful by the day, as one by one, those who dare defy him are hunted down and killed.

But of course, he doesn't like to show his face. His Death Eaters and his puppet Ministry do the dirty work.

He is a clever bastard.

And I am a fool.

I know that this is a stupid idea. I should escape to Italy. It wouldn't be difficult. I have contacts there - people who could set me up with a new home, a new job, a new name.

Not going to war is the best method of survival.

But it is at war that I find myself, for reasons that even I can't answer.

This night is dark, no moon. My hand is curled around my wand as I skulk between the containers on the docks.

Every so often, I glance at my watch and swear.

They are two hours late.

A group of eleven witches and wizards should be on their way to me. They are war refugees. A family of three, five Muggleborns, two political prisoners, and an Auror.

The last three are considered to be public enemies and are wanted by the Death Eaters.

Finally, I hear the sound of a Muggle lorry.

As it approaches, I step out of the shadows and signal the driver, who pulls over, kills the lights and winds down his window.

"Fishing in the morning?" I ask.

"Should be a lovely day to cast a line," he replies.

This is code. It means that all has gone well so far. But his use of the word 'should' is a warning.

I nod and walk around to the back of the lorry, opening the tailgate quietly, and peering inside.

Eleven sets of eyes, wide with fright, look back at me.

"Quickly now," I whisper. "We don't have much time." They are fast to comply. Each has a meager bundle of possessions. Their vaults frozen by the Ministry; this is all they have.

I direct them into the shadows, and they follow me through the maze of the docks.

I halt them suddenly with a raised hand as two Muggle dock workers pass nearby. I wait until they are well clear, and we move on again.

Only a few moments later, the Sneakoscope in my pocket buzzes.

Snatchers are here.

Quickly motioning the group to get down to the ground, I scout ahead. My pocket buzzes again as I move forward.

Soon, I round a corner to see a Snatcher coming towards me. He doesn't see me in the dark.

Nor does he see the knife that I slam with deadly precision into his throat.

He dies without a sound.

I wipe the blade on his threadbare robes, and drag the body out of sight.

There is only one problem. Snatchers always work in pairs.

I check my watch. I've been away from the refugees for only a couple of minutes, but it is still too long. I decide to head back.

As I near the place where I left group, I hear a voice.

"Well then, who're you lot? Not plannin' on runnin' away, are ye?"

It is the other Snatcher. With silent steps, I slowly walk up behind him, and draw a long pointed needle-like blade, called a _poniard_, from my robes.

"Get up! C'mon, outta the shadows!"

The Snatcher raises his wand, and I strike.

Wrapping a hand around his mouth, I thrust the poniard into his back, angling the blade up to spear through his heart.

He collapses to his knees, and I put a foot on his back, tugging the lethal blade out and leaving my victim sprawled out in the dust, blood seeping from his body.

I ignore the horrified looks on the faces of the refugees.

Their war is very different to mine.

We finally reach a shipping container nestled in an alcove. I unlock the container, and the door opens silently on well-greased hinges.

I usher them inside, and close the door, then fumble for a torch pegged on the wall. I flick the switch and a dim glow emits. I make a silent note to get some more batteries, and hold the torch up so they can see my face.

"I'm not going to tell you my name, nor where I come from. What we are doing is incredibly dangerous. You must obey my instructions immediately, without question or delay. Failure to do so will likely get us all Snatched - to face the Ministry, or killed."

I pause, and look solemnly around the enclosed space.

"The hardest part will be getting you all onboard the ship. Snatchers watch the ships vigilantly, so we're going to use a Muggle crane to lift this container onto our ship. Once we're on the French coast, we'll dump the container overboard. It'll be picked up by another boat. You'll all be in it the entire time. Once we're on the beach, we'll travel across the border to Switzerland. Do you understand?"

Nods and murmurs indicate that they do. That, or they are too scared to disagree.

I rummage in a box for cans of food, and several bars of Honeydukes chocolate - a rare luxury in these times, and hand the items out as the group settle themselves in.

I reach inside my robes once again and pull out a _Nokia 8110_ cellular phone - a Muggle piece of technology, then address the group.

"I need to make a phone call. Don't use any magic."

The Muggleborns understand. I quickly dial the number.

"Haddock, this is Y. Shipment ready for pick up. Over."

"Reading you, Y. Stand by."

I hang up.

"Which one of you is the Auror?"

A young man tentatively puts his hand up. "I only just graduated training before the – "

"I don't care, you're in charge whilst I'm gone. I need you to bolt the door once I'm out. Okay?"

"Sure," he replies.

"When this goes off, unbolt it. I'll unlock it from the outside," I instruct him, handing him the phone.

"Okay."

"And don't open it for anything else."

"Yes sir."

I have taken only a few steps when the Sneakoscope goes off, but this time, the buzz emitting from my pocket is followed by a series of shorter bursts, then a long buzz again.

And the thing I dread the most comes to pass.

There are Death Eaters are on the docks.

Not just Snatchers, but Death Eaters with enough magical ability to see right through my crude deception. They will be able to sense the eleven souls inside the shipping container.

And they will murder every single one of them without a second thought.

I consider my options. I can't simply kill the Death Eaters. It is too risky. Their deaths will be noticed. People will come looking. And I will be very lucky if I am not found.

I'm good, but the thought of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paying me a visit sends a chill down my spine.

I'm going to have to modify their memories.

When I joined the Department of Mysteries, my experience as an Auror counted for very little. I learned things there - magical abilities that few knew existed, and even fewer were capable of.

And I learned to change memories so well that I could put an entire squad of Obliviators to shame.

I take a deep breath, and focus.

Quietly, I make my way to their position.

They're standing on top of a container, and have a view in every direction. Even in the dead of night, it is a perfect vantage point.

I only have one shot.

Then one of them speaks.

"That's the ship."

His voice is nasally.

"Wonder if the Mysteries bloke is there?"

This one has a deeper voice, more gravelly.

"It doesn't matter. Where the fuck are the Snatchers?"

"I've heard the reports, you know...this guy is good. Maybe he took them out."

"If something had happened we would've detected it."

From my position crouched low beside the container the Death Eaters are standing on, a second chill runs through me.

They know.

"The orders don't concern him. The Auror boy and the Mudbloods are our primary targets. Some are valuable to the Dark Lord."

They know _everything_.

Assessing the area around me, I quickly hatch a plan of attack. I skulk to another container nearby, and quickly clamber on top of it, remaining deathly silent. From my container to theirs is a space of about 8 feet. I have to make a standing jump.

At the edge of my container, I crouch, coiling my muscles.

I jump.

Arms outstretched, I land on their container in a second crouching position.

It happens in slow motion.

As they both turn to the sound of my landing, I grab their ankles and push them up into a somersault, their bodies flipping backwards.

I pirouette, and slam a kick into the face of the larger Death Eater.

One down.

The other has landed on his stomach. As he rises, I drop a foot into his head and slam it against the container.

The entire attack lasts all of five seconds.

I look down at their prone forms.

It would be so easy, to whisper the Killing Curse, to end their lives. Who knows how many lives I would save, or how many I would avenge?

But my war is made of surgical strikes, not wanton destruction.

Carefully, I spin a web of magic around their bodies, and conjured a couple of empty bottles, making sure I heal their bruising.

The last thing they'll remember is a Firewhisky-fuelled night in London.

With hurried steps, I make my way back to my container, to see it being lifted aboard Haddock's ship. I make my way onto the ship via a mooring line that I clamber up. No one in Haddock's crew sees me.

The trip should be uneventful.

Uneventful is good. Uneventful is great. Uneventful is what dreams are made of.

The ship pulls out of the harbour, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The hardest part is over.

If my timing is right, Haddock should make another call to the phone any second.

I press my ear to the door, and hear a faint chime, followed by the sound of a bolt being drawn back. I reenter, and address the group.

"Now we wait. I suggest you try and get some sleep."

They heed my advice, shifting in their seats to get more comfortable.

I finally sit down in a worn armchair that is bolted to the floor of the container, and settle in for the journey over. Soon, the sounds of slumber are the only thing penetrating the waves and the drone of the engine.

I am broken out of my reverie by a voice.

"Excuse me? Um, Mr...ah, what do I call you?" asks one of the refugees, a brunette girl in her early twenties.

"Y. Just call me Y," I answer shortly.

"Like the letter?"

"Yeah. It's a codename. You're Sophie, right?" I reply.

"How'd you know?"

"I know the name of every single refugee I traffic."

She looks impressed.

"How long does it usually take to reach France?" she asks.

"About two hours."

She is silent for a moment, then talks again.

"Is this what you do?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

I wouldn't normally humour her questions, but something compels me to answer. Maybe it's the need to talk, to connect to someone. Maybe it's the messy knot her hair is in, and the way it falls over the nape of her slender neck.

"I started doing this a couple of weeks after the Ministry was taken."

"At the same time they started hunting down Muggleborns," she observes, her voice tight.

"It didn't take the bastards long," I reply.

There is a heavy pause in the air, and we don't need to mention wounds too deep to heal.

"Is smuggling people always like this?" she asks.

"This was one of the harder ones."

"What was the worst?"

"The last time we used Calais as a landing," I said, my voice tight in my throat.

"What happened?"

I pause, thinking of wounds that would not heal easily.

"They were waiting for us. I led twenty-five people into a firefight. Only three people survived."

"Would you like a drink?" I ask, changing the subject, and pull a flask from a small wooden box beside my chair.

"Please tell me that's tea," she says, then grins.

"You're in luck," I reply, grabbing two mugs and handing them to her.

I put my hands on the cold metal of the flask and concentrate, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

A red glow flares around the flask for barely a second, and when I pour the tea, it is piping hot.

"Nice trick," says Sophie, sipping at her drink. "But aren't you worried that they'll detect the magic?"

"It'd be very difficult to detect it out here in the first place, and it's wandless, which makes it even harder to find."

"What did you do?

"Before the war?"

"Yeah."

"I worked in the Ministry."

"What Department?"

I pause, then, "Mysteries."

"No way. You're an Unspeakable? What do you do there?" she asks in disbelief.

"The less you know, the better."

"Why am I not surprised," she replies wryly.

"I'm serious. There are some things that people are better off not knowing."

She nods, accepting.

"What do they teach you in the Department of Mysteries?"

"How to keep secrets."

She gives me a flat look and I smirk.

"Did you learn how to kill there?"

"No. I was an Auror for some time. We learn Muggle combat techniques for situations when we can't use magic."

"Oh. And heating tea?"

"That too."

"Why did you stop being an Auror?"

"I was handpicked by the Head of Mysteries. He can be … persuasive."

"Did you like it there?"

"Yeah, I did. The Auror Office saw things in black and white. Mysteries works in shades of grey."

"Why did you leave the container?"

I know I shouldn't answer her, but I do anyway.

"There were two Death Eaters looking for you tonight."

"What did you do?"

"I Obliviated them."

"You didn't – " she makes a gesture across her throat.

"Kill them?"

She nods.

"No. They don't care about Snatchers, but when a Death Eater dies, people take notice."

She accepts my reasoning, but the questions continue.

"What's it like? Killing people?"

"It's an act of necessity. It's not something I enjoy. But I don't regret it," I reply simply. "You can't do it if you have doubts."

I pause, then add:

"Hope that you don't have to ever do it."

She nods soberly, then yawns.

"You should sleep," I say.

"I can't," she replies.

I reach out my hand.

"This is something else I learned."

I rest my forefinger and my middle finger on her left temple and whisper an incantation under my breath.

Her eyelids flutter close, and seconds later, steady breathing tells me that she is asleep.

We are off the coastline of Normandy, France. It is 2:30 am in the morning.

I hear the now familiar whirring as Haddock's crew winch our container off the deck, and quickly check to make sure everyone is strapped into a seat.

"Hold on!"

I strap the last refugee in, and grab a handhold that suspends from the roof.

With a lurch, the container suddenly plummets into the sea with an astounding crash. The container bobs in the water, swaying with the waves.

"Now we wait. It should't be too long," I tell the group.

It is another half hour before I hear the sounds of chains being latched onto the container.

This is the second part of the operation.

After Calais, we couldn't risk Haddock's ship being spotted. So I used another contact, Marius, to retrieve the container and take us to shore.

With yet another lurch, the container is lifted out of the water and onto Marius' boat. Once it's onboard, I leave the container, and with a nod to Marius, cast a spell that shrouds the boat in fog.

We use a secluded cove to dock Marius' boat, and finally, we reach dry land.

Dawn is not yet on the horizon as the group leaves the container. I hand each of them a Muggle passport as they step outside, and then take a seat in the back of Marius' lorry.

Sophie is the last to leave. She gives me a small smile, and embraces me. I put an arm around her awkwardly. It's been a while since I've held a woman in my arms.

"Come with us," she says.

For one brief moment, I consider it. Consider leaving this fucked up mess of a war, leaving it all behind.

But then the moment passes.

"I can't."

I see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

But there is nothing I can do.

I study her for a second, and then whisper a single word to her.

A confused frown crosses her face, and I add:

"That's my name."

For some stupid reason, I don't want her to forget me.

She smiles again, brighter this time, and I give her a passport, then watch her climb into the back of the lorry.

From here, Marius will take them to the Swiss border.

And then they will be free.

Free from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Free from the Death Eaters.

Free from hate.

And free from fear.

I could go with them. But I don't.

I could go with her. But I don't.

My name is Y. That's all you need to know.

And this is my war.

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**Endnote: **I hope you enjoyed it, and for those who read _Wrath of Merlin, _that _Sword Beach_ gives you a real insight into Y's background.

Finally, please review!


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